


In-Between Collections #1

by Kuronrko98



Series: Maladaptive Daydreaming Work: The Cube and Related Universes [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Self Harm, Self-Insert, do not copy to another site, except its not a surprise, it's just how things are, some borrowed characters, surprise nothing is real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-12 16:39:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19233010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuronrko98/pseuds/Kuronrko98
Summary: While everything in Furnace is going on, the Cube continues running as it always has. That is to say, not terribly smoothly.





	1. Split Screen

**March 1st, 2016 - The Original**

 

> _I might as well still be in the hole, back with the hallucinations and darkness. The light in a dream that couldn’t have been there, that shouldn’t have been able to break through the blanket of nectar in the air._
> 
> _None of it makes sense._
> 
> _The second siren rings, opening the second door to allow me back into general population. The red stone of the yard, the jeering inmates, the stuffy air, the near-blinding lights, all on top of my thirst and sensitive eyes has my head spinning again._
> 
> _I end up stumbling along instead of walking with the blacksuit. When he finally lets me go at the edge of the crowd of inmates within the yellow circle, I feel vulnerable and unsteady._
> 
> _“Whoa, you ain’t looking too hot.”_

I jerk upright with a startled grunt.

It takes a few breaths to free my senses of the suffocating heat of the prison. I grip the arm of the couch to ground myself back in reality. The scratch in my throat fades into normal teenage dehydration

I blink at the TV, the repeating title screen of a childhood favorite, but I can’t shake the sight of Gamzee from my head. He wasn’t invited. He shouldn’t be anywhere near that universe.

I take another breath, another squeeze of the plush couch arm, and start El Dorado over again. Maybe I’ll actually finish it this time without losing track of myself.

“Doubtful.”

I hardly turn my head to acknowledge Izaya. “You’re not helping.”

Pros of being at my dad’s house on the weekends:

  1. I get to watch movies for two days straight.
  2. __Dogs_._
  3. I’m alone the whole time and can keep all of my conversations verbal.



Cons of being at my dad’s house on the weekends:

  1. No internet.
  2. What is food?
  3. I’m alone all the time and real/fake can get shaky.



I cast my thoughts back to the Cube. Not so far as any of the doors, _definitely_ not back to Furnace, just to the corridor outside The Lounge. I need to check a few things, ask around a little, if only to find out what in the ever loving fuck is going on.

I look to the door and Izaya’s already holding it open for me. I pause at the judgment I now feel radiating from him in waves. I try to resist listening in, but—

_—old cycle. Back on their bullshit, either a god or a monster, don’t even know which is worse. Bad decisions all the way down._

That’s about what I expected. I don’t say anything, flashing him a smile as I pass. I’ve known his position on Furnace, on my idea of a healthy outlet for my frustrations, for a long time. I can’t hold that against him anymore.

I don’t even have to enter The Lounge itself to know something isn’t right about this whole mess. The corridor connecting it to the Cube is almost empty, but those wavy horns stand out against the darkness of the In-Between beyond the windows. Gamzee doesn’t turn or acknowledge our arrival in any way, so I assume he’s fully captivated by whatever entertainment the empty space provides.

He physically cannot be here and in Furnace at the same time. That warrants investigation, but he’s the last person I want to talk to right now. If I can’t figure it out with my standard resources, I’ll bite the bullet and confront him. That’s gonna stay on the last resort list for now.

 _—unstable. Better than last time, maybe._ The ghost of a pill bottle flickers from Izaya’s idle thoughts as we pad past the distracted troll.

 

> _Will you calm down?_ I project back. _If all you’re gonna do is agonize over whether I’m suicidal, you should find somewhere else to go._

He recoils halfway through a reach for the second set of doors.

He opens his mouth, swinging around to face me, but I force silence in his head to keep him from talking. I’ve almost made it into The Lounge without having to talk to Gamzee, I’d rather not have that change.

So he does the next best thing and argues with me back in my father’s house.

He disappears from the hall, and I have to focus on listening to him _and_ pushing through the doors to The Lounge. It doesn’t look any different than I left it, a warm tavern lit by torch light and dim fluorescents.

“Someone has to worry about you if you’re not going to.”

Yeah, he’s just jumping into it, huh?

I wish he would just back off for once. I don't want to do this. I don't want to play this back-and-forth out. It ends the same way every time. It doesn't help anyone in the end.

“I’m fine,” I hiss.

“You’re not,” Izaya presses, and I shake my head with a thought meaner than I would say out loud. I might be an ass but I'm not _that_ bad. “When was the last time you were really _here_ in the real world?”

I don’t answer. I look down at my phone instead, useless for anything more than taking notes as long as I'm at this house. I don't want to have to deal with this. I don't want this to be my responsibility. As much as I want Izaya to approve of this and for everyone to be happy I just don't have the energy to deal with this.

Fuck, I hardly have the energy to deal with everything else right now.

But I have too much to do to just stop everything now.

“Jesse!” I nearly jump out of my skin and when I look up Izaya has a finger jabbed in my direction. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” I spit through grit teeth.

Izaya could also wait, but he _won’t_.

"You have _no right_ to tell me that my brand of stability is wrong," I growl.

| 

“J-Prime!” Jess calls from behind the Lounge’s bar. “I thought you were busy kicking Cross’s teeth in.”

“I thought _you_ were renovating.”

The Vampire doesn’t have to ask what I want, but their smile hitches into a snicker when the jug of sweet tea appears on the counter. They set a glass on the table for me, gesturing vaguely at the almost-empty room behind me.

I shake my head slightly to keep Izaya out of this head. Jess raises a brow at me but doesn't comment on it. “It’s all up to you, you know, whether the place ever gets where it needs to be.”

> _And that means..?_

“Jesus, Connor doesn’t tell you anything, does he?” They snort when they recap the jug and let it fade back out of existence. “I’m ‘depending on you finishing that damn universe to complete the bar’ or whatever. His idea, not mine.”

I wish I could be mad, but I’m not. He knows me, after all, knows I tend to put things off. The more incentive I have to finish this thing, the more likely I am to actually do it. He likely put more thought into entering Furnace than I did and he only knew we'd be doing it a few days before we went in. If that's not a perfect representation of our relationship, I don't know what is.

I slam my glass down on the counter much harder than I intend and I’m painfully aware of Jess eyeing me from their side of the bar.

"I'm fine," I assure them in a tense monotone. After a few seconds I shudder out a sigh and say, “Split screen, you know how it is.”

They nod and pull up another glass for themself. They can wait.  
  
---|---  
  
“Nothing about this is stable.” Insistent, belligerent, stubborn, he finally comes out and says the things I’ve heard him thinking for weeks. “I’ve _seen_ you, staring at your computer like there’s a gun to your head.”

“Maybe because I know everyone’s looking over my shoulder,” I mutter.

He pays this no mind.

“All you do is sit and think about Furnace. Write about Furnace. Ignore _school_ to obsess over Furnace. It’s not stable, and it sure as hell isn’t healthy.”

“It’s not your responsibility to save me.”

His face falls at that, and another flickering picture blurs in the back of my mind, a figure in a hospital gown floating in the darkness. My eyes sting when I blink it away, my throat thick.

A door opens down the hall, my dad’s room, and I swing around to face the TV.

My dad walks through the living room, two black labs bounding ahead of him. They both stop to sniff my knees and lick my hands on their way to the front door. My dad directs a smile my way as he passes.

“Hey, Jess.”

“Morning!” I say, a brightness in my voice I almost can’t believe.

“Someone has to,” Izaya murmurs next to me.

I don’t look at him, watching my movie with a smile fixed on my face. I hate resorting to covert conversations, but if he’s gonna be a little bitch about it—

 

> _No they don’t! The only one that can make that call is me._ I try to put as much emotion, as much of the ‘don’t fucking touch me’ vibe as I can into the thought as I push it on him. _You might be in my head, but you don’t hold that fucking title. Step_ off.

Izaya might be a lot of things, but at least he knows when to bow out.

I finally unclench my jaw and open my eyes back in The Lounge. Jess makes the cat activation noise and swallows the last of their own drink.

“You good?”

I down my entire glass of tea and nod.

“Surprisingly, yeah. Tell me more about the renovations.”


	2. Causality

**April 23rd, 2016 - The Original**

Why does everything always happen when I’m trying to watch a movie?

I’m not really absorbing anything on the screen, flicking my gaze between my phone and the laptop on the ottoman. I almost have a trillion cookies. Soon, I’ll have the 6 trillion I need to ascend again.

I’m supposed to be writing.

I don’t look at the other window on the screen, the document of my adventure in Furnace. I’m too worried, too scared that I’m right about what will happen. I’m having a hard time putting the words down.

A flash of a possible future blots out my cookies, making me flinch.

I was doing fine this morning. Breakfast with family, people I haven’t seen in a long time. Since then, though, I’ve been sliding backwards. Maybe Furnace is finally getting to me. Maybe the real world is dragging me down.

Maybe I’m just tired.

Yeah, I’ve been saying _that_ for two months now. I don’t think tired quite covers it anymore.

I still think I’ll take a nap when this movie is over.

\---

The movie ends, and I don’t move.

I keep flicking my gaze between the scrolling credits and the computer. My eyes barely touch the second window, though I feel like it’s watching me with slow patience.

_I should be writing._

Everyone is counting on me. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to fight what’s coming, but I _have to_. I have a good idea of what’s in wait for me, but I don’t want to have to think about it let alone write it. If only I could warn the version of myself in the prison.

A twinge in my arm knocks me off the thought process, and I look down to my left forearm. Pockmarked with angry, barely healed sores, I don’t have to look to know the new scabs live under my fingernails now.

Yikes.

“That’s the least of your problems.”

I slap a hand over the sores and look up to find Crowley scowling down at me. He’s been trying to get me to talk to him for days, but I already know what he has to say.

Both of the things he has to say.

I track his complaint about Alyssa stealing his property word for word based on the too-loud bitching he’s been projecting my way. I doubt the thought sharing was intentional, but that doesn’t stop it from having happened. I let him do it anyway. I'm sure it makes everyone feel better to actually get to say what's on their mind.

“I don’t know what you want me to do about it,” I mutter when he finally hits the end of a train of thought. “You’re both big kids, divide the playground on your own time.”

“She listens to you.” The strained patience in his voice rubs me the wrong way and I shake my head.

“You _know_ who you should be talking to.”

“What, little Mickey Mouse? Oh, she won’t talk to me.” He waves the mere idea away, and I shrug.

I heave myself to my feet, the effort straining my words. “I dunno what to tell you, then. Try not to break anything too important when things get nasty between the two of you.”

He splutters out a few more weak complaints about Alyssa while I drift into the kitchen, then lets the topic fall into the early grave it belongs in. It leaves me free to see if there’s more food than the last dozen times I came in here.

It takes him some time to continue, though I know he has more to say. The shape of it floats through the air. This part of his visit is less clear to me. It has a smug outer ring, the sense of a favor. He'll want something from me later, likely hopes whatever he has to say will get me to change my mind about helping with Alyssa. Not likely, considering how deeply I've been enveloped in the Cube lately.

He has to gather his thoughts, see, because now he’s got the bad news. The _real_ reason he came to find me. The ‘I had to come up with a complaint as an excuse to come tell you this’ reason.

“My sources tell me there have been _shady dealings_ near the memory sectors. Thought you might want to know about Cross’s guys making off with a mess of recordings.”

Ah. There it is. I wasn't expecting to get this message from Crowley, but it's just as well. All of my worst speculations, finally confirmed by more than overheard thoughts and the whispers of the Cube’s walls. Something more substantial than a hunch. Maybe now that I know, that I’m _sure_ about what’s coming, I’ll be able to just.

Let it happen.

This is all my fault.

At least I haven’t lost my grip on the stream of causality in the Cube. That I at least sort of saw this coming is reassuring in a way.

He hammers on the Alyssa issue again, then the memories. He probably wanted more of a reaction from that, but I can't muster up the energy to be as upset as I probably should be. I guess he can only take a few minutes of my deflections because he’s gone before I give up on finding a meal. I wander back into the living room, wondering how I’m going to put off my responsibilities next.

I gaze at the TV, at the movie’s title menu, for longer than necessary before turning it off. I don’t look at the computer screen before snapping it shut. I can still feel the accusing stare of the open document, even with the device closed and away.

It’s time for that nap, or a book, maybe a game of solitaire. Anything to distract me from this ache in my chest, from the exhaustion turning my bones to lead.

But, you know, I’m _fine._

I’m always fine.


	3. Party Crasher

**April 30th, 2016 - The Original**

If I hadn’t gotten a free ticket, I wouldn’t have even come to prom.

I don’t know what possessed me to join Prom Council in the fall. I’m almost willing to blame the damn thing for all the shit going wrong lately. Stress, something pushing me down, making me restless enough to be _stupid_ _enough_ to go back to Furnace.

Connor came back.

I locked him behind a door I can’t even look at.

The breath I push out through my nose doesn’t come close to expressing my frustration. I just double the pressure of crayon on paper. I’m probably the lamest person here, coming to _prom_ with a coloring book and nowhere near enough energy to try existing as a human being.

Everyone’s having a great time.

I mean, I am too, but I’ve always been better at watching other people have fun than actually doing whatever they’re doing. Being surrounded by people moving, with such a high likelihood of being touched, isn’t exactly my idea of fun times. I’m fine with my Dollar Tree coloring books and barely-usable crayons. No one really believes me about that, though.

“Look at _you_.”

The crayon snaps in half when I jolt.

~~I don’t look back because staring up at nothing is weirder than spending the entire prom focused on a coloring book.~~

~~—because the last time I saw him, I threatened to kill him.~~

~~—because I can’t deny the thrill of excitement at that voice.~~

I don’t look back because I know what I’ll see. Connor mentioned him a few times after coming back. I didn’t expect _Kane_ to show up.

_At my prom!_

“Go away,” I hiss.

"Is that any way to greet your old boss? _”_ The smile in his voice snakes a shiver down my spine.

I haven’t seen him in _years_. I’d hoped connecting the blacksuits with the Scouts would be enough to get them to stop tiptoeing at the edge of my life. That getting new recruits for them would serve some kind of debt?

Yeah, that was childish and naive.

“Hey, JMan, you okay?”

I jump again, palm flat against the table to cover the broken crayon. This time I do look up. I'm allowed to react to this, this is a real life human being.

Ray watches me from the other side of the table, her brows quirked. She doesn't react to Kane or his twisted cartoon grin. She can't see him, no one here can.

Doesn’t stop him from being there and being a giant prick.

“Go ahead, gimme a demonstration of what you remember,” he prompts, propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin on folded hands.

Oh, god _damn_ it. I don't spare him a glance before I flash Ray a smile.

“I’m good. Running on empty, but good.” I force a yawn and lean back in my chair. I wish this dress had pockets to stow the crayon pieces clutched in my fist. “Not looking forward to clean-up in the morning, you know?”

Her laugh chimes like a bell, and I let myself relax. She helps. She almost always helps.

Still. I hate the pride in my chest at the nod Kane directs my way. It swells until it curdles and makes me sick.

“Yeah, for sure.” Ray mirror’s Kane’s position, and it’s so _hard_ to not look at him. I don't know why I need to prove anything to him. I don't want his smile to fall into disappointment, a laugh and a tut before moving onto something else. This line of thought is bad. “The country stuff’s fine, sure, but did Baimbridge really have to bring so much hay in here?”

I snort and turn back to look at the dance floor. At the strobe lights and the pulse of the music. None of it belongs in a theme even remotely trying to call itself rustic, but the hay littering the floor and the canvas hanging from the walls gives a little of that ‘country’ atmosphere. The bare minimum drowned out by neon and sound waves.

For a town of hicks, we’re kind of shitty at executing a theme like this.

Shayne, my ‘date,’ looks like he’s having a great time. He plays the crowd like a fiddle, though I know that's not his intention. He's just having a good time. Kicking my ass when it comes to social skills tonight, but I’m glad he’s having fun.

“Do you want me to talk to him for you?”

I swivel back around to find Ray nodding toward the dance floor. At Shayne.

What, she thinks I’m sulking? Or something? I chose to be here, to sit with the coloring books and puzzles. I wanted to be here. I knew I was tired before I came here, I bought the puzzles for a reason. It's a better excuse than my real reason for being a little out of it. I still shake my head, though.

“Nah, I told you. I’m good.” I pause, then amend that. “It has nothing to do with him.”

“If you’re sure…”

I nod and paste another smile on. I love Ray, I really do. But every time she believes me about something he leans forward a little more. I’m going to _scream_ if Kane’s grin gets any bigger. The next assenting sound he makes, I’m gonna break my promise to remain focused on one frame of reference tonight.

Then he’s gonna see just how much I _remember_ about working for the Scouts.

Ray and I exchange a few more platitudes and she retreats back to to the throng dancing to.

Uh.

Yeah, I have no idea what song this is.

Kane pushes himself to his feet with a thoughtful nod.

“I knew you were still sharp. Would you be interested in—” For once, he shuts his mouth when he actually looks at me. It doesn’t last long. “Er—I’ll be in touch. You should be proud, you know. After all these years, I’d wager you’re still the best Scout I’ve ever trained.”

And he vanishes with that bombshell devastating my night.

Woo.

Junior prom.


	4. Through the Grapevine

**May 13th, 2016 - The Original**

“I already said no,” I say before Kane can start his bid to get me back on the job. “I’m too busy to deal with you today.”

He closes the door behind himself. I don’t look back or put my pencil down. If he’s resorting to tracking me down in the Cube—in the _Room_ —he’s either desperate or bored. I’d put money on the latter, but I’d never rule out desperation when it comes to the Scouts.

“I’ve got a message for you.”

I pause, pencil frozen in the middle of a word. I’ve never heard him so serious.

I shrug, though, and keep writing. It’s likely from the council. I haven’t heard from any of them in the time Kane’s been back, but it’s only a matter of time. They don’t like rogue elements. I’d say I qualify. They didn't exactly like me before and I was nine years old then.

When I don’t answer, he tuts. “You don’t trust me, I get it. But it’s from _you_ , so I figure you might wanna hear it.”

I snap my head around before I can catch myself.

Damn it.

Kane leans against the door, brows raised.

“Which one?” Since I gave away my interest without him even having to _work_ for it, I might as well go all in. “If you got someone else in the Collective to take the job, I swear to god—”

“That’s a good idea, actually.” The words retain his usual light tone, but the latent joke doesn’t show on his face. “But no. All I know is she was pissed and she’s under the impression you don’t know about her.”

What? There’s a new me running around and _Kane_ knows about it before me?

“She’s hiding behind one of those locked doors. Told me to tell you she’s taking things into her own hands, that she’s breaking some rules.” He shrugs, and if I trusted _anything_ about his body language, I’d say he’s clueless. “If she’s anything like you, this Cross guy musta been crazy to—”

“ _Cross?_ ”

Just what in the hell is going on out there under my nose? What have I been missing? Why am I just hearing this through the grapevine instead of seeing it firsthand?

Kane  _finally_ adopts his default smile, and a notable amount of tension leaves the room. It feels normal, a normal discussion, an exact reversal of one of the few pleasant exchanges I had with him as a kid. First time I caught him speechless, at least.

“Like I said. She’s pissed and wanted someone on the outside to know about it.”

I gaze at him and gauge different paths of conversation I could take. Another unknown variable in Furnace. I didn’t think any of the others went into that universe. I mean, I didn’t think anyone in the universe could get into the In-Between at all. It was supposed to be a buffer, after all.

I’ll go the safe route.

I turn back to my journal and lift the pencil again. “Thanks. Now get _out of my room_.”

He groans, but I’m beyond taking his whining seriously. “At least think about taking the job.”

I tap the pencil against the surface of the table and take his choice out of the equation. I think he’ll have fun trying to pick his way back from _that_ corner of the Cube.

I puff out a breath and put pen to paper. 

 

 

> _An aside:_  
>  _I’ll get into my speculation when I actually have time to not do my job (ie. not right now), but it looks like The Collective has another member. I’ll have to check out the door soon, see if I can get them to talk to me. It sounds like, whoever they are, they don’t like Cross, so they’re welcome to join that club._  
>  _I know that he’s being a fucking monster in Furnace right now, but what else is new?_  
>  _He’s probably? The most deserving of all the FUCKING MONSTERS in the Cube of a lifetime in the cell blocks. See how you like that, you ageless piece of shit, an eternity stuck in a 6x6 cell with no one to monologue to.  
>  _ _Okay, I’m write-yelling at someone who isn’t even HERE, I’m gonna stop. I still need to go over today’s readings and check with Terezi and the Strilondes about the map they’ve been working on.  
>  _ _That would be a fucking godsend._


	5. My Problem

**May 27th, 2016 - The Demon, Jezaebeth**

This movie isn’t what I was expecting.

I mean, it’s a doll. You see a doll in a movie labeled horror, and it’s supposed to be a ghost. It was supposed to be a ghost or a demon— _I’m_ a demon, I’m an expert here. Haha, joke's on me, now I can’t move because the Human can’t process their fears on their own time. They see some scarred man-child crawling through the vents and finds a way to relate that to the warren of dead daydream paths they have stocked up.

“Well, now I _know_ you aren’t them.”

The only use of the _actual_ living doll/statue/??? in the room is to distract me from the fucking mess rattling The Collective’s shared focus. Kane lounges on the other side of the couch, and he doesn’t look ready to get up any time soon. I level a gaze at the facade of ease he’s fronting. As far as I know, he’s been trailing behind the Human and the face of The Collective for almost a month. He wants them back on payroll.

If not them, it sounds like any of us will do at this point.

Without turning my gaze at all, I tighten my fist until the nails dig deep into my palm.

He winces at the cracks spiderwebbed from the grip I have on his neck. The cold concrete of his ‘skin’ is harder to break than I expected, but it obviously has its limits. The snap of a fissure up the side of his face proves that, as does the overdramatic, pained sigh he releases. Paying no mind to pressure on his throat, of course. You have to be alive to need to breathe.

“So that’s a no. Or should I leave you on the ‘maybe’ list?”

He waves a hand in front of his chest and my hold on him slips away.

I automatically pause the movie and physically turn the body to face him. Where he should be. Would be. Accuracy doesn't matter.

That was temporal shit. Cube ‘magic.’ Messing with things just on virtue that it’s not real. It’s something The Collective specializes in. Something natural for the ones created here. Acceptance that all of this is fake is easy for us, we already  _knew_  that.

“You shouldn’t be able to do that.” It comes out like an accusation, and I guess it sort of is.

He shrugs, sharing a brief laugh—either with me or himself, I’m not sure. “I shouldn’t do a lot of things I do.” 

Kane’s old as fuck, probably strayed miles away from who he was before the Human stumbled into his character online. He’s still not from here. The list of outsiders that act completely at ease with not being real could fill pages of one of our journals.

The ones that take advantage of that as well as we do could be counted on one hand.

“What do you want with the Human?” I ask. “What’s the job you want them for?”

He bares his teeth in a grin. The instincts of the human body I’m sitting in diverge from my own again. Anger, or fear, or something _wrong_ pools in my chest. I have to shake my head to keep from letting it muddy my thoughts.

It takes a second to break through the cognitive dissonance and catch up with what he’s saying.

“You know, this is kind of a long term gig. She can’t drop in for a day and call it good.” Either he doesn’t hear my growl or he doesn’t deem it worthy of a response. “We’ve got some slips asking for her specifically, and we aren’t in the business of turning down paying customers just because someone doesn’t wanna do the work.”

“ _They_ aren’t stable enough to add something like this to _their_ plate.” I’m pleased at how amicable that comes out. “They’re a mess of tape and string as it is.”

He shakes his head and makes that same waving gesture. I don’t feel anything accompany it other than a tut.

“That kid’s stronger than any of you think. You’ll see what I mean pretty damn quick.” He disappears. The negative he leaves shrugs in the second it remains and his final words float without a body attached to them. "They're made to survive through anything."

**—- The Original**

_“Some friends.”_

“Wh—”

Ink scratches across the page. It breaks off an unfinished sentence and cutting through the lines above it. I sigh and close the journal, the heel of my hand already pressed into my eyes.

_“They’re all telling me off. Treating you like some glass figure on a pedestal. You might as well be on display in this cage of yours.”_

“I’m really not in the mood today, Kane,” I murmur. “I can’t take this as endearing. Not right now.”

I push out of the chair and wince at the chorus of popping joints. I should turn in. This should be enough for now.

 _“‘The Scientist’ says you’re too sentimental. The mystery girl calls you short-sighted. All of your little boyfriends want to save you, which is a_ joke _. Even this demon thinks you’re just ‘a mess of tape and string.’”_

And that’s Jezebeth’s voice, tacked on the end.

I stare at a blurred panel of wall, stationary with a steadying hand splayed on the desk. I know what he’s doing. He used to pull this shit all the time. Told me I wasn’t up to snuff when he thought I might hesitate or resist a job.

Spite is easier than duty.

But he won’t find any of that here. I don’t have any reason to be loyal to the Scouts anymore. I’m not surprised that the others don’t think I’m capable of the kind of work they ask for. They weren’t there, not really, they just see the edges and the silhouette. I love them all. But they don't remember every detail of what living with Kane over our shoulder was like. They don't really get an opinion on what I can handle where Kane and the Scouts are concerned.

I’m not mad.

I’m just so _tired_.

I’m tired of being stuck in the Room for weeks at a time. I’m tired of everyone acting like I think I’m better than them—especially when I’m doing the clerical work they want to forget about. I’m tired of walking by the Breaking Furnace door. I’m tired of thinking about what Connor might be doing while the me in that universe gets worse and worse. I’m tired of school. Of people, of my parents, of missing lunches, of not having food at _home_ the two fucking days out of the week I don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m tired of my head being so _loud_.

I’m tired of being so _fucking exhausted_ all the time.

Maybe I am a little mad.

It doesn’t look like Kane’s going anywhere anytime soon. He’s not going to let up, that’s never been in his repertoire. He’ll keep going until I take the job or someone else does. I can’t let someone else do it. I know Kane. I can deal with him and the rest of the bureaucratic nonsense the Scouts bury everyone in.

This is my problem.

I sigh.

“I’ll take the job.”

_“Excellent.”_


End file.
